


(But I won’t do that)

by MidLifeLez



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 20:16:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16772152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidLifeLez/pseuds/MidLifeLez
Summary: Set after Leah’s first day, in a universe where Serena is as we know and love her. If anyone wants a second chapter of fluff and smut, there’ll be one.





	(But I won’t do that)

“Honestly Bernie, you’ve never seen Jason move so quickly, and that wall behind the changing unit is probably going to need repainting, never mind sponging down.”

Serena let her eyes close and pressed the phone hard against her ear the better to capture Bernie’s loud, distinctive barks of laughter before they dissolved in to a throaty chuckle. Funny how you could come to miss something that had so startled you to begin with, she thought. Funny how you envied the people who were there, close enough to jump at the sound, their pens digging sharp lines across patient forms or falling from their grasp altogether, clattering onto the nearest hard surface.

Bernie cleared her throat. “Thanks for that,” she said. “I needed a laugh.”

“Tough day?” It was just gone 9pm in Holby, and Serena had had the benefit of two glasses of wine and an old episode of Only Connect to help her shrug off her shift; though it was a little after 11pm in Nairobi, Serena could hear that Bernie was only just getting ready to leave the hospital. If she wasn’t mistaken, she’d heard the ‘thunk!’ of Bernie’s trainers being chucked under the desk not long after they had started speaking, and there was a hum of activity in the background that Serena recognised from her visits to the trauma centre.

Bernie pursed her lips and blew out a light whistle. “Challenging,” she replied, not often willing to burden Serena with more detail than a word or two, especially when she was still on hospital grounds. On the scale, though, Serena knew that ‘challenging’ days were among the worst.

“Oh, if I’d known you needed some comic relief that badly, I’d have started with the funniest bit of the week,” Serena said, also knowing better than to press the issue. The evident glee in her voice was like a beckoning finger crooked in Bernie’s direction. “The new F1 tried it on with me, would you believe. First day as well!”

Again came the stuttering machine-gun fire of Bernie’s laugh; again Serena held the phone a little more tightly and closed her eyes.

“Actually tried it on?” Bernie asked.

“No need to sound quite so surprised, darling; I’m not in baggy stockings and a cardigan just yet.” Serena hesitated for a moment, wondering how much to reveal. At the other end of the line, Bernie (muttering the beginning of a sentence that was probably “I didn’t mean it like that”, though she never got further than “I, no… I”) could almost hear the grin on Serena’s face as she made her decision. Serena drew herself up to her full height. “I, I shall have you know, have had my knee squeezed this week.”

“The cheeky bastard,” Bernie exclaimed, a slight squeak in her voice. “I mean, I can’t say I don’t admire his chutzpah: first day on the ward and he cracks on to his boss—”

“Well, she does happen to be a devastatingly attractive senior consultant,” Serena interjected. Bernie didn’t miss a beat.

“Goes without saying. But he cracks on to his boss and squeezes her knee?” Bernie’s voice got deeper, becoming reassuringly squeak-free as she went on: “I hope you broke at least one of his fingers as you removed his hand from your thigh. An F1? I’m putting good money on a double-barrel surname and/or a personal connection to Guy Self. Am I close?”

There were different versions of Bernie, and the one that was just for Serena spoke softly, in questions rather than statements, with gentle touches and warm eyes. This Bernie, all confidence and bravado, hand on hip and chin out, the threat of violence never seriously invoked but never quite snuffed out, either, was a Bernie most of the management team at Holby City Hospital were familiar with. No doubt a few senior clinicians in Nairobi, too. None of that stopped the feeling of possessiveness that shot through Serena, though. My Bernie, she thought. My darling Bernie. My big macho army medic.

“Not remotely, I’m afraid, darling.” Serena laughed. “For a start, he’s a she.”

After several seconds of silence, Serena pulled her phone away from her ear and looked at the screen. The connection was still fine, but Bernie clearly wasn’t. She tried for humour – it had worked so far this evening.

“Are you going to break all of her fingers?”

At last, Bernie huffed out a laugh. “No,” she said, petulantly, and then quickly changed her mind. “Yes, actually. Yes. One by one. A different and increasingly painful method for each.”

They both sighed, Serena imagining Bernie’s pout breaking into a smile, Bernie knowing that Serena’s right eyebrow would be arched with amusement.

“It doesn’t make any difference, you know,” Serena said. “Man, woman, whatever. I’m no more interested in an F1 than I am in Steven bloody Fletcher.”

“S’okay,” Bernie said, softly. “I know.”

“Good,” Serena said, swigging the last of her glass of wine. “And anyway, how come I’ve got porters and juniors making eyes at me while you’re getting the come on from our CEO?”

Bernie scoffed. “I’m going to kill Ric.”

“Do you want to send me the full hit list, or should I just warn everybody to keep their nunchucks about their person next time you’re back in the building?” Serena teased. “I don’t think Fleur would mind a bit of hand-to-hand combat all that much, but the others might.”

Placated – if she’d ever really been jealous; shocked, maybe – Bernie chuckled again. Fleur was an unlikely aide, but she had so far been as good as her word. Her admiration for Serena was nonetheless undiminished.

“Wants to win your hand nobly, does she? Vanquish me in the overflow car park and carry you off in her hatchback at dawn?”

Laughing, Serena looked at the clock and instinctively yawned.

“I think you’ll find I’m the only one who gets to do anything to you in the overflow car park,” she warned, smiling at the thought of the pink blooming across Bernie’s cheekbones as she did. Serena certainly wasn’t new to a spot of heavy petting across the front seats, but Bernie had originally taken a little bit of coaxing. “But listen, I’m dog tired, and I don’t doubt that you are too. I’m going to get ready for bed, and you should head home. Text me when you get in?”

“I will,” Bernie promised. “Love you.”

“I love you too.”

When Serena got up to go to the loo at 1am (if it wasn’t Guinevere, or the baby’s father, it was Serena’s bladder that got her out of bed these days, damned menopause), she picked up her phone as she climbed back into bed. Three notifications from Bernie.

“Home,” said the first message.

“Sweet dreams xxx,” said the second.

And then, from not long ago, the third: “Fancy a weekend here next month?” It was two months before Bernie’s next trip back to England, shortly before Christmas, and they hadn’t talked about any plans in the meantime. Serena clicked on the link. A villa in Sicily, complete with vineyard. A vineyard filled with Syrah grapes, no less. She opened up a reply.

“Oh, now she wants to meet me halfway.” Serena inserted a winking emoji. “I’ll have to try and catch the eye of my F1s more often.”

As soon as the message sent, three dots appeared, to show that Bernie was typing a response.

“I am working on numbers 14 and 15, Campbell.”

Serena chuckled and pressed to call Bernie’s number. She answered straight away. 

“Get some sleep, Bernie,” Serena whispered. “We can talk about the weekend in the morning.” 

“Okay. Night Serena,” Bernie whispered back through a yawn. “Oh, and Serena?”

“What is it, darling?”

“Already booked it.” There was a hint of triumph in Bernie’s voice. “We just need to work out if we want—”

“ _Sleep_ , Bernie.”


End file.
